Alas, gone were the days when lambs, hominid and ovine, were sacrificed to the demons, the body snatchers, the ghouls. Now all you can expect are those calorie-filled sugar rushes that are given out today. A ghoul must watch his weight, you know.

“I miss my home in Hungary,” said one. “We had ghoulash every night.”

“Ah, those were the days,” a croaking chorus cacophonied.

“Stop complaining!”

Everyone, living and unliving, turned to the speaker. “How rude,” one said.

“Listen, this happens every Halloween eve. We wake up early to prepare for tomorrow’s haunting day, then waste it all whining about the lousy trick-or-treatings.”

The ghouls stared in disbelief.

“Let’s just go out there and shake up some bones. Sigh, not you, skeleton; I mean’t that rhetorically, not literally. Sheesh.”

This sounded promising.

“Yeah, that’s the ticket. Let’s pretend we’re trick-or-treaters and scare the bejesus out of those lame candy-pushers. You, Skel, pull off your head in front of them. You, zombie, go ahead and drop and arm or two when they try to hand you those disgusting candy corn things. You, witch, well, can’t you toss a spell at someone? That oughta freak out a few goody-two-shoes old lady, right?”

Cheers erupted among the group. After reattaching some inconveniently dropped body parts, all agreed to the plan.